Page 12 of The Villain's Beast

I’d very likely find myself at the bottom of the pool alongside my piano.

I twisted my wrist and pulled my hand up my length, my entire body shuddering with pleasure. Only half of it from the feel of my hand, the other from the weight of his attention on me.

“Are you going to watch?” I asked, my strokes quickening, breath coming harder.

“I am watching.”

Fletcher swallowed and gently pressed the side of his finger against the bottom of my chin, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to look at him.

“Are you cut, Gideon?” he asked.

My balls hurt. They ached.

“Yes.”

He hummed, lips pursed into a tight line.

“Are you?”

My head fell back and Fletcher grabbed me. One finger beneath my chin, the other hand fisted in the back of my hair, holding my face once again level with his.

“No,” he answered, leaning close.

I could still see his face, his eyes, the pained stretch of his mouth. His breath burned against my cheek, and I was close enough to see the thoughts racing through his eyes.

“I’m going to come,” I warned him.

“Good.”

My entire body seized as I finished, jets of cum spilling over the top of my hand. Fletcher’s fingers tightened in my hair and his other hand drifted down. I didn’t look away, not even as I registered the sound of his zipper, the rough slide of dry skin against dry skin.

Another burst of cum leaked out of my slit when Fletcher gritted his teeth together and grunted. He blinked hard, clenching his jaw and letting out an almost silent groan as he finished seconds later.

More than anything, I wanted to look down, to see what we looked like with our pants down and our arousal smeared and drying between our legs, but enough was enough and Fletcher wouldn’t give me the chance.

He tucked himself back into his pants and released his hold on my hair. He never even looked down at my dick, not even as he climbed off my bed and put his shoes back on, and especially not when he looked back at me before closing the door and letting himself out of my room.

Chapter 9

Fletcher

Sometimes, if I’m feeling particularly masochistic, I try to think of the ways my life might have played out differently had I only looked down that night. I didn’t, though, and it’s probably the only thing that kept me whole through the following weeks, the following years…

Gideon and I kept our pants on for the rest of our study dates, but the tension between us was suffocating. When we sat together, he inclined toward me, the rose scent of his hair wafting around us both like the most dangerous kind of tie. His hair would brush my ear, and if I was feeling particularly brave, I would reach for him and tuck it back. His skin always burned my fingertips, and I ached to touch him more.

Touch him harder.

Touch him with intent.

The night before our assignment was due, Gideon didn’t show up at my dorm. I waited until 11:15, then I called him. He didn’t answer, so I put on my shoes and trekked across campus to his building. Gideon was half in the hall, half in his room, with his hand braced against the door frame while he tried to fight his sneaker onto his foot.

I cleared my throat and he looked up, face blanching at the sight of me.

“Sorry,” he said, slamming his foot down to get his heel into the shoe.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He scrunched his nose. “My alarm didn’t go off.”